


A Study in Matchmaking

by NoPajamasGurl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Lets Get Molly and Sherlock Together Campaign, Matchmaking, Mummy's meddling, Mycroft's Meddling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-07
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2018-01-11 12:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoPajamasGurl/pseuds/NoPajamasGurl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mummy Holmes wants some grandchildren. Mycroft isn't very useful in that area, but perhaps he <em>can</em> help Mummy give Sherlock a little push... right into our favorite pathologist's lap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hold On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I'm so excited for this. SO excited to share it, SO excited to write it. Just excited. This will be my first Sherlolly multi-fic. 
> 
> DO FEEL FREE TO GIVE ME CONSTRUCTIVE CRITICISM! I welcome it!
> 
> Inspired lyrics for this chapter: _"Come and break this heart of stone...Hold on, love will come..."_ \- Hold on, The Gospel Whiskey Runners (CHECK IT OUT!)

Victoria Holmes was a proud woman. She had every right to be, if one was to simply look at the facts. She was an accomplished scientist. A _female_ scientist. She had connections to the Queen of England. She was wealthy. She was married (and she was definitely the head of the house no matter what her husband said, thank you _very_ much). But, most of all, Victoria Holmes had two wonderful sons.

Mycroft was an accomplished, brilliant man. He had climbed up the government ladder quickly enough. He had married, but it hadn’t worked out. Much to Victoria’s disdain, Mycroft insisted that he wouldn’t go through the “clinical trial that is marriage” ever again.

Then, there was Sherlock. Also a brilliant man, Victoria worried over him. She didn’t particularly like that Sherlock wasted his intelligence on crime scenes and car chases. But it made him happy, and what kind of mother would she be to meddle in his life?

Well. Meddle in _that_ area of his life. Who said she couldn’t meddle in his social life? She knew Sherlock was lonely, regardless of what he said. He always brushed away the thought of a romantic relationship. “Sentiment,” he’d snarl and would dismiss the topic. But Victoria wanted grandchildren and Mycroft certainly wouldn’t be giving her any. Anyway, Sherlock was at the perfect age to consider settling down, starting a family.

Mycroft sat across from Victoria now, sipping at a cup of tea, legs crossed. “I do have some work to be doing, Mummy.”

Victoria smothered an eye roll, opting instead for a pout at her eldest son. “Oh, Mycroft, can’t you just be happy to visit me every once in a blue moon?”

Mycroft chose to roll his eyes. Oh, she _was_ a Holmes and Mycroft marveled at the similarities between Mummy Holmes and his younger brother. They were a right pair, indeed. Mycroft preferred his father’s company, but Sherlock was always a Mummy’s boy. Always. “What is it you want?”

Victoria sat back in her chair, her eyebrows crowding her hairline in a look of surprise. But this was just the type of attitude she expected from Mycroft and damned if she didn’t absolutely adore him. “I worry for your brother.”

Mycroft swept a glance at the room they had picked to catch up in. The sitting room. Victoria was redecorating. Or, at least, having the room redecorated for her. She couldn’t be bothered to do it herself; she was a scientist and she just _had_ to keep up with her papers. The chairs they were occupying had recently been re-upholstered. What was once a floral fabric now boasted as a deep burgundy that matched the heavy drapes on the windows. Mycroft frowned. He had rather liked the flowers. He said so out loud now. “They really did fit the room better.”

“Do not _ignore_ me, Mycroft.”

“Of course not, Mummy.”

“I know you worry for him as well. You and your… _sources_ prove that.” Victoria sighed because she couldn’t really judge her son’s means of keeping track of his brother. Why, she herself had just done the same to organize the plan she had prepared to present to Mycroft. He needed a schedule, you see.

Mycroft scowled. What was Mummy up to now? “Will you get on with it?”

Victoria tutted. “Such talk. And to your own mother.” A smile stretched the woman’s face and she set her tea aside to lean forward in her seat. “Tell me what you know about Dr. Molly Hooper.”

Mycroft’s brows lifted, information flitting across his mind suddenly. _Pathologist at St. Bart’s Hospital. Aided Sherlock in his death. Attractive, in a subtle way. Kind. In love with Sherlock._ What an interesting question. And yet, Mycroft perked up immediately and mirrored his mother’s new position in his chair, posh pretenses dropped. “What do you have in your head?”

Victoria waved a hand vaguely before retrieving her tea, sipping at it – she really did make some damn good tea – and sitting back again. “I want grandchildren, Mycroft.”

“Well, _I_ won’t be giving them to you.” A facsimile to Victoria’s own conclusion of her oldest son, Mycroft scoffed, but his head was already wrapping around Victoria’s implied direction of conversation. Already plotting and planning. “And what, pray tell, does that have to do with Sherlock’s pathologist?”

“ _Sherlock’s_ pathologist, you say?” Victoria nodded. No doubt what Sherlock himself dubbed her. Perfect. “I think I’d like to have tea with Dr. Hooper. See if she’s good enough for our consulting detective.”

Mycroft’s smile was a shark’s smile as his eyes connected with his mother’s and sparked mischievously. Perfect. “I was hoping you’d say that, Mummy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the length, or lack there of. Mostly a prelude, teaser chapter.
> 
> Leave me some love (or hate?)!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> \- Kayla


	2. Rules

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly gets a few surprises at work. Also, why are the Holmes boys so formal to her now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI GUYS! UGH. YOU ARE ALL SO LOVELY! I'm so happy with the response to the first chapter. 
> 
> I hope you guys like this chapter just as much, if not more. (I STILL NEED A BETA THOUGH.)
> 
> Inspired lyrics for this chapter: _"This blood keeps me alive, but what is it that runs through you? Electricity and wires, dictating everything you do." - Rules, Jayme Dee_

“So sorry to hear about your loss, Mr. Carpenter,” Molly Hooper murmured, gesturing with the needle in her hands at the severed arm on the counter behind her. The cadaver before her had no response and Molly shrugged before returning to her stitching. She liked to talk while she worked and since no one listened except the dead, well, she was more than willing to talk at them. Molly closed off the last stitch on the dead man’s abdomen. “I’ll get it back on for you. I hear your funeral will be really something. Being a millionaire and all that, I suppose it should be. Er, used to be a millionaire… Sorry.”

“Are you apologizing to a cadaver, Molly?”

Molly whirled, her hand pressed to her chest, her eyes wide. “Oh, Detective Lestrade!” She laughed, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “Yes. Well. It gets lonely in here sometimes.” Molly dragged a hand over her hair, smoothing the non-existent fly-aways. “Something I can do for you, Detective?”

“Yes, actually, I need-“

“ _I_ need to see the body of Jeremy Carpenter.”

Molly looked over Lestrade’s shoulder. Her cheeks weren’t red from embarrassment anymore. “Hello, Sherlock,” she greeted. Gone were the stutters. Helping the love of your life kill himself did that. “I just finished up his post-mortem. Definitely homicide. Took a shot to the shoulder, and it ripped through and tore across his heart. The arm was cut through with an axe.”

“Whoever killed him was a psychopath,” Lestrade grimaced, but a glare from the consulting detective had him stepping back in fear and regret.

Sherlock stepped up to the body, eyes flitting over, taking in whatever it was that he took in when he observed things. Molly observed Sherlock. He was supposed to have left a week ago, exiled. Molly had decided that exile was better than prison. Sort of. Exile would have definitely been better than the shock that was the idea of Moriarty alive. Mycroft had turned Sherlock’s plane back around again. And this was the first Molly was seeing Sherlock since before he had been banished. He looked tired. Sad again. Molly frowned.

“You have something to say,” Sherlock stated. 

She looked over at Detective Lestrade apprehensively, her brows furrowed. “It’s noth-“

“George, please let me have a word with Dr. Hooper for a moment.”

“It’s Greg.” Pause. “Hang on. Did you say please?”

“Out.” The detective left. Molly pursed her lips in irritation, her eyes narrowing at the consulting detective, who was still leaning over the body to look at the wound on its side. “Yes, Molly?”

“That was rude. And you know his name. You really should acknowledge him. He’s your friend and you respect him, so show him.”

“Where did mousy Molly Hooper disappear to?” Sherlock asked abruptly, standing up straight. The scarf around his neck was starting to loosen and Molly started to reach up to fix it, but stopped herself at the last second. Something flashed across Sherlock’s eyes as she pulled her hand back, but it was gone before Molly could look into it. “I quite enjoyed her a lot better. She would shut up when I wanted her to.”

Molly opened her mouth. Shut it again. Then, “Well, t-that was just…”

Sherlock smirked, turning back to Mr. Carpenter again. “There. That’s better. Now, go ahead and say what’s on your mind already.”

Molly’s nose wrinkled. Damn him. Damn him back to exile. She turned away from him, trying to avert her attention to the dead body in front of them, but God, he smelled so good. Molly huffed. “You just… You look sad again.” Sherlock paused and Molly was quick to cover up her tracks. “I mean, you just… You look a little down. And it’s okay, it really is. It-“

“I know it is,” Sherlock snapped. But he was scowling and Molly blushed and why, oh why couldn’t she act like a normal person around stupid Sherlock Holmes? Why couldn’t Sherlock Holmes act like a normal person around anyone? Of course, then he wouldn’t be Sherlock Holmes and Molly wouldn’t be in love with him and- “What is the point of your question?”

Molly tilted her head to the side. “I didn’t ask a question, Sherlock.” 

“Oh.” Sherlock straightened, refusing to meet Molly’s gaze. Molly tried not to let it get to her. Damn him back to exile. “Good, then. Thank you, Dr. Hooper.”

Dr. Hooper? “Why are you-“

“Good day,” and Sherlock Holmes excused himself and was through the doors to the morgue before Molly could even say goodbye. Molly never got to say goodbye to him, it seemed. 

The pathologist turned back to her cadaver. “I guess it’s back to our date then, Mr. Carpenter,” Molly sighed, and turned to the counter to retrieve the severed arm.

 ****** 

“See you later, Molly.”

Molly waved at her friend, Mina, as she snatched her purse out of her locker and shut it. “Do you work tomorrow?”

Mina shrugged. “Yeah, but only for a few hours in the morning.” Mina was a pediatrician upstairs and Molly often ran into her in the staff room. They knew each other from school, but working together had pushed them a little closer and Mina had widened Molly’s practically nonexistent friend circle. Mina had been there for Molly during the three year “dead-Sherlock” phase. Molly was grateful for her and tried to be a good friend in return as often as she could. “What about you?”

“No, I’m off tomorrow,” Molly sighed heavily, but mustered a smile for her friend as she headed to the door. “See you.”

“Bye.”

The air was damp when Molly stepped outside of Bart’s, a foreshadow to the impending rain that threatened the afternoon’s forecast. Much as she tried not to, Molly thought of Sherlock. He often wandered in and out of the morgue without much pause or thought aside from the case he was working on. But Molly thought he had been strange towards her lately. He was kinder to her since his Fall, but since she had slapped him for his drug abuse and her engagement had been called off, he had grown indifferent again. Rude, and mocking. There was something else too, but Molly couldn’t for the life of her figure out just what it was. He couldn’t be angry at her for slapping him; he deserved it. 

But it had been the last time they had seen each other before he had been exiled… 

Suddenly, Molly smacked into something. Or, rather, someone. “Oh! I’m so sorry! Please, let me-“ Something was shoved into Molly’s hands and the person was gone. “Wha-?” Her eyes were frantically looking around for whoever it was that she had bumped into when the thing in her hand started ringing and Molly realized she had been given a burner phone. Her eyes widened. She accepted the call. “H-hello?”

“Ms. Hooper.”

“Y-yes? Who’s this?”

“Please get in the car. I’d make a threat, but I’m sure you already know your situation.”

A sleek black car pulled up next to Molly and the driver stepped out to open the back door for her. The caller hung up and Molly couldn’t do anything but do as she was told. 

****** 

When the car pulled up to a lavish manor after what seemed like an hour, Molly was quick to scoot closer to the door. The girl seated next to her hadn’t so much as lifted her head from the cell phone she seemed to be attached to. Molly had ignored her. It was rude, but Molly rationalized that the girl was being just as rude.

The door opened and Molly climbed out awkwardly.

“Hello, Dr. Hooper.”

“Mycroft?”

Mycroft Holmes offered his arm to the pathologist. Sherlock often complained about Mycroft, but even from the couple of times she had spoken to him, she knew he only cared about Sherlock’s wellbeing. Aside from that, he seemed like a decent man from what Molly could tell. Of course, Sherlock _did_ say her deducing skills were shite…“I hope the trip wasn’t too uncomfortable for you.”

Molly took Mycroft’s arm and walked with him up the steps to the house. Together, they stopped right in front of the door and, releasing their arms, turned to each other. “It was all rather dramatic.”

Mycroft’s smile was tight. “Well, at least you know where Sherlock gets it from.”

“What am I doing here?”

“Tea.”

“Tea?”

Mycroft did not answer her right away. Instead, he pulled her through the front door and into what appeared to be Mycroft’s home. The front hall was large and boasted many doors and a winding staircase. Mycroft stopped them and turned to her again. “Mrs. Victoria Holmes has requested your presence for tea.” Molly blinked. So, not Mycroft’s home. Who was Victoria? And why were the Holmes boys suddenly so formal around her? 

“Me?”

Mycroft tilted his head forward in affirmation. “She makes the best tea around.”

“But… why? Who’s Victoria?”

Mycroft smiled. “My mother.”

“Y-your mother?” Molly brushed her hands down her yellow jumper and jeans. She was meeting Mycroft’s mother. _Sherlock’s_ mother! At least she had left her lab coat at home… Oh, God. 

The oldest Holmes son patted Molly’s shoulder gently before pulling her down the hall and Molly wondered if she had somehow been sucked into an alternate universe. “Welcome to the Holmes Manor, Molly Hooper.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're adored!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> \- Kayla


	3. She Keeps Me Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy Holmes and Molly talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Here's chapter 3! I hope you like it. If you do, let me know. If you don't, well... let me know! :)
> 
> As always, constructive criticism welcomed!
> 
> Inspired lyrics for this chapter: _"I can't change, Even if I tried, Even if I wanted to...My love, She keeps me warm..."_ \- She Keeps Me Warm, Mary Lambert

Molly had always been very good at meeting parents. She was a sweet girl, smart and funny. Her career was morbid, yes, but parents loved her for the most part. She hardly ever was nervous when meeting a boyfriend’s parents. Meeting Sherlock’s mother was a different matter altogether though. First of all, Sherlock wasn’t her boyfriend. Second of all, she had no idea prior to this meeting that she would be doing this. Third of all, Sherlock wasn’t her boyfriend. 

Mycroft tugged Molly into a lovely, floral sitting room and sat her down in an antique chaise lounge. “She’ll be right in. Do make yourself comfortable.” And then, Mycroft went out the way they had come in and Molly was left alone.

The first thing that Molly thought was this surely had to be a case and Sherlock would come in at any second to explain what cover up this would be. But Molly chucked that idea. Mycroft would not be participating in a case so physically. Also, why wouldn’t Sherlock come and get her himself? Molly suddenly realized that Sherlock probably had no idea she was even here, especially since Mycroft was involved… Or maybe he did know… Molly was confused. What was she doing here?

Feeling fidgety, Molly stood up and made her way over to the fireplace. On top of the hearth were picture frames and Molly smiled at the wedding photos, the dog, and a pair of toddler boys. Her fingers brushed over the last picture and she laughed softly at the goofy grin on the curly headed boy’s face. The younger one was holding up a wooden sword in triumph against his brother, who was rolling his eyes but smiling in a way that said he was enjoying his brother’s antics.

“That’s my favorite picture.”

Molly jumped, her hand smacking the frame so that it fell to the floor with a crash. Her cheeks stained red, she bent to pick up the picture and cradled it, giving it one last glance, before setting it back in its place. “I am so sorry.” Then she turned to face Sherlock’s mother.

Sherlock’s mother was dressed as impeccable as Molly imagined. Mycroft and Sherlock had to get their fashion taste from somewhere and the home gave away the family wealth. Mrs. Holmes was white-haired, petite, elegant, and lovely. Molly resisted the sudden urge to bow. The Holmes weren’t royalty, even though Mrs. Holmes certainly looked it.

“Don’t be sorry,” Mrs. Holmes said from the doorway. She stepped into the room and crossed to stand beside Molly at the fireplace. She picked up the picture and smiled warmly down at it, her fingers brushing over the glass as reverently as Molly had. “I startled you. The fault was mine.” The woman looked up, her smile still in place. “I wish they were still as close. Boys are so annoying, you know. Pride and all that.”

Molly tried to laugh, but it came out as a cough. _Could I be any more awkward? Of course, around Sherlock…_

“Hello, Dr. Hooper.” Mrs. Holmes set down the frame and outstretched her hand to Molly expectantly. Molly took it obediently. “I am Victoria Holmes. You may call me Victoria, since I’d like us very much to be friends.”

Molly nodded. “If we’re going to be friends, you must call me Molly.”

“Molly.” Victoria’s lips curled and Molly saw Sherlock in that look. “Please sit down. How do you take your tea?”

“With too much sugar and a lot of milk,” Molly giggled and Victoria grinned.

“A woman after my own heart.” Victoria stirred sugar and milk into Molly’s tea, then into her own, and passed a cup to her guest. Both took a sip. Molly hummed in delight. “I trust Mycroft took good care of you on the way here.”

“Yes, of course.” Molly took another gulp of tea. Damn good tea. “You have a beautiful home.”

Victoria smiled, pleased. “Thank you, dear. It’s a wonder Sherlock never visits me.”

Molly took the bait. “He doesn’t?”

“I imagine he visits you often?” Victoria took another small sip of tea, innocent and more than a little anxious. She had been waiting all week for this little get together. She was going to enjoy testing Dr. Hooper. Molly was a pretty little thing and Victoria pictured curly-headed, brown-eyed grandbabies. 

“Sherlock?” Molly frowned. “I suppose so. He comes into the morgue quite a bit.”

“He doesn’t pester you, does he?”

“Oh. Um. Not so much.”

Victoria sighed, exasperated. “Oh, Sherlock. You’d think I had taught him better. He is a bit unmanageable.”

“Don’t I know it,” Molly muttered and Victoria smiled into her teacup. “I’m sorry Sherlock doesn’t visit you, Victoria. He’s very busy, though, as I’m sure you’re aware of. But I guess that doesn’t give much of an excuse as to not visiting your own mother.”

Victoria set her cup down in her lap and nodded fervently. “Exactly!” Then she leaned forward just as she had when Mycroft had sat across from her a week earlier. “Perhaps you could convince him, Molly? He would listen to you.”

“Sherlock Holmes doesn’t listen to anyone.”

“He listens to you, does he not?”

Molly sighed, her eyes lowered. “Least of all me.” Victoria frowned. Surely Molly was mistaken. Mycroft had told her of the extra protection Sherlock had practically begged him to give Molly. If Sherlock begged for anything. 

“Hmm,” Victoria hummed, her eyes narrowed at her guest. Then, rather abruptly, she clapped her hands once, twice, excitedly. “So, you’re a pathologist?”

Molly blinked rapidly. “Oh, um, yes. I work at St. Bart’s Hospital.”

Victoria, of course, knew that, thanks to Mycroft, but she nodded as if she didn’t. “And you enjoy your job?”

“Yes, very much. Though, no one really talks to me,” Molly laughed awkwardly. Victoria smiled. Ah, yes. The dead people jokes. Mycroft had warned her. 

“You know, I am a scientist,” Victoria said, proudly because she was very accomplished.

“Yes, I’ve read some of your work.” Molly bit her lip, blushing brightly. “You’re very good. I’ve always admired you.”

“So, you’ve heard of me before, then?”

Molly nodded. “Yes, in medical school. That’s where I heard of you first. Then I just read some of your papers and your book.”

Victoria brought her cup to her lips. “What did you think?”

“Oh, _brilliant!_ I especially loved your paper on Asberger’s.”

“Because of my personal evidence?” Molly blushed again, averting her gaze. Victoria grinned. _Perfect._ “Do you think that Sherlock manages his autism very well?”

Molly tilted her head. “I think Sherlock is a capable man, who has accomplished many things and has proven himself to be as amazing as he thinks he is. Does it matter if he has autism?”

Victoria leaned back in her chair, schooling her face into a serious expression. But on the inside, she was cheering. Molly Hooper was in love with her Sherlock. Oh, yes, this would be just perfect. “It is a part of him.” Victoria set down her tea on the small table next to her chair. “You’re wondering why you’re here.”

“Just a little.”

“More than,” Victoria corrected, but her smile was friendly and Molly couldn’t help but to smile back. “I know that Sherlock cares very much for you, Dr. Hooper. And I can see that you care for him.” Molly didn’t look away and Victoria nodded. “I throw an annual gala here, where I invite my colleagues and friends. It is a very large event. Mycroft comes, but Sherlock tends to…pretend to forget.”

“Do I need to convince him to come?”

“I think your presence at the event will be convincing enough.”

Molly startled. “M-my presence?”

Victoria laughed. “Well, you _are_ a doctor, Molly. I do hope you’ll come.”

“You want me to come because you think Sherlock will?”

“I want you to come because I want us to be friends.” Victoria picked her tea back up again and took a dainty sip. “I also want Sherlock to come. Perhaps he can accompany you?”

“Accompany me? As in, like my date?”

“If you don’t want to come…”

“I’d love to come, very much, Victoria. But I don’t think Sherlock will come with me…”

Suddenly, Victoria stood up and the movement had Molly following suit, dropping her teacup to the coffee table and following the older woman to the door. “I do think he’ll feel obliged to come, if you accept my invitation. The party is in three weeks, the 23rd. I will send a formal invitation and we will have to get together again beforehand. I intend to help you find a dress. Oh, and Sherlock will have to join us next time.”

“Dress? Wait, Victoria, I-“

“You will come, won’t you, dear?”

Victoria turned pleading eyes to the pathologist and Molly slumped in resignation. Oh. This was where Sherlock got his manipulating ways from… “Of course.”

“Splendid!” Victoria cheered, then threw open the door and dragged Molly out into the long hallway. Mycroft stood at the end of it by the front door and, upon looking up from his phone and seeing the two women, he stepped forward to take a dazed Molly by the elbow. “I have some planning to do, Molly dear. I’ll send for you again in a few days. Do talk to Sherlock, will you?” Victoria turned to kiss Mycroft’s cheek. “Mycroft. Be good. And take care of Molly.” If Molly had been paying attention, she would have caught Victoria winking at her son and his thumbs up. But she wasn’t and Mycroft was sweeping her out the door. “Cheerio, Dr. Hooper! Until next time!”

Settled back in the car next to the texting girl, Molly dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Are they always so…”

“Over bearing?” the girl supplied.

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

Molly groaned again. She would be having words with Sherlock Holmes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much love,
> 
> \- Kayla


	4. Your Head and Your Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock visits Molly at work and, later, Victoria calls Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Another chapter! Sorry it took a little while. Been getting back into the groove of things.
> 
> A big, ginormous, huge thank you to my beta, actressen. She is lovely and wonderful and fabulous and this chapter was a mess before her! <3
> 
> Inspired lyrics for this chapter: _"Maybe your head is not where your heart is, I'll sleep alone, And if our bones can stand to be alone, Then I'll leave it to your head and your heart" - Your Head and Your Heart, The Saint Johns_

Despite the fact that she had been set on charging straight to Sherlock’s, Molly had instead gone home. She had made some tea and gone to bed. Victoria Holmes was almost as exhausting as Sherlock Holmes. _Almost._ She didn’t seem to be a sociopath. Molly wondered, though, if all the Holmes had some kind of mental health issue… 

It had been three days since Molly had been taken to meet Victoria. She had all but forgotten the meeting, relegating it to the back of her mind so she could focus on work and…well, work. She didn’t have much else. So when Molly returned home late last night (or rather, early this morning) only to have to report to work five hours later, she had been forced to reflect the entire conversation, and, more importantly, what did Mycroft have to do with it? Molly wasn’t an idiot, much as Sherlock made her feel like one sometimes. She knew that Mycroft was involved, just by the mere fact that he had been present.

“The Holmes men are infuriating,” Molly muttered to the corpse she was leaning over. Alan Hastings. Twenty-three. Died of an overdose (heroin, most likely). 

Molly hated that, whenever she had a case like this, Sherlock’s face would come to mind. She knew it was not her job to worry about him—it wasn’t as if he gave a rat’s arse about how she felt about the truly _idiotic_ stunts he pulled sometimes. But she worried nonetheless on occasion. Oh, who was she kidding! She worried _constantly_ , whether it was because she hadn’t seen him for a few days, or because she had seen him just a bit too much because Lestrade hadn’t approached him with a case in a while and he was _bored_. 

“Did you consider the people who cared about you, Alan? Hmm? What was that? No, did you say? Well, I’m sure the irrational guilt won’t bother them for _the rest of their lives_ , so don’t you worry.” 

“Sarcasm does not suit you, Molly.”

“Sherlock!” Molly jumped, dropping her scalpel. It had just so happened that Sherlock had situated himself directly behind her so that, when she took a step backwards, intending to turn and face him, she instead landed on his foot, losing her balance and falling back into his chest. He grunted low in his throat and Molly whirled around, a hand pressed to her mouth. 

“Oh, Sherlock, I’m so sorry! I…” she paused for a second, her look of remorse morphing into one of irritation. “Why am I apologizing? This is _your_ fault. Sneaking up on me like that! And I was holding a knife! I could have… I could have…” Drat. And she had been doing so well there for a minute. 

“You could have stabbed a dead man,” he finished for her, rolling his eyes. “Now, Molly, are you busy?” 

Molly eyed him incredulously before turning her gaze pointedly to the corpse on her table. 

Sherlock let out a huff. 

“You’ve been acting uncharacteristically as of late, Molly.”

Molly snorted. 

“What about you? You’ve been acting even more strangely that usual these past few weeks,” Molly said, bending down to retrieve her fallen scalpel. Had she looked up, she would have seen a flash of hurt cross the consulting detective’s face. He covered it quickly and strolled across the room, standing across from Molly, who had placed her now-contaminated scalpel on a tray. She would sterilize it later. 

They stared at each other for a moment over the body of Alan Hastings. 

“What is it that you want, Sherlock?”

“You visited my mother.”

Molly froze. Of course he would have found out, but she had rather hoped that they wouldn’t have to talk about it. 

“It wasn’t exactly my idea,” Molly defended. 

“Mycroft.”

Molly nodded. 

“Right.” Sherlock was quiet for a moment as Molly sewed Alan Hastings back up and returned him to his body bag. When she left for the prep room to dispose of her used gloves and wash her hands, Sherlock followed her. 

“Well, what are you going to wear?”

“Wear?” Molly asked, turning on the sink.

“Yes, to my mother’s gala.”

Molly turned to Sherlock, her hands and forearms covered in soapy water. “I—I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter. My mother will help you find something. I will dress to match you. You shouldn’t have to worry about much. My mother is a very driven woman and, when she wants something, she gets it.”

“Much like you,” Molly murmured, rinsing off the last of the soap. When she looked back up, Sherlock was watching her curiously.

“Indeed,” he agreed, his voice especially deep. There was something about his eyes that Molly want to just slide her fingers into his hair and—enough! 

“Molly?”

Molly blinked rapidly. She had been staring and Sherlock had said something. “Sorry?”

“I asked you if my mother said anything else to you, beside demanding our presence at her gala.”

“Oh. No, she didn’t,” Molly dried off her hands on a towel and took off her lab coat, placing it on its hanger by the door, grabbing her winter coat from the neighboring hook. “Oh! Actually, she did mention that she wanted to have tea again. With both of us,” Molly recalled, putting on her coat.

“I imagine she did.”

“Sherlock?” Molly turned to face him. He was watching her with the most curious expression on his face. She couldn’t quite decipher what it meant, but, then again, she made a conscious effort not to think too much on it. “Why does your mother want me to come to her party?”

Sherlock seemed to hesitate. He glanced to the floor and adjusted the collar of his coat, so Molly couldn’t see his face. When he looked up again, it was with the detached, neutral expression she had come to expect from him. She couldn’t help but feel a tinge of hurt when he looked so coolly at her, like she were a stranger or an insect. 

“I haven’t the faintest,” Sherlock finally answered. 

And then he was brushing by her. But Molly wouldn’t let him get away so easily. _Not this time._

She rushed to catch up, one of his long strides the length of nearly two of hers, and grabbed at the sleeve of his beloved coat to get his attention. He stopped and turned, peering down at her beside him. His face was neutral, but his eyes were hard, and almost… upset?

“Sherlock,” she said softly. “You know you can talk to me, don’t you? If something’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Sherlock replied, turning to go, but Molly kept ahold of him. “There’s _nothing wrong with me_ ,” he all but snarled. 

Molly gasped and slackened her grip on his arm. As soon as she did so, he pulled away, walking briskly towards who-knows-where, and, more importantly (as her mind sadly reminded her), away from her.  
“Sherlock!” She called after him. He didn’t even turn. _I didn’t say anything was wrong with you, Sherlock_ , she wanted to say—that, and so much more—but, no matter what she did or how she acted, she knew that inside she was still just Mousy Miss Molly (as her schoolmates in primary would so kindly call her), and while Mousy Miss Molly was many things, brave had never been one of them.  
******  
Molly groaned sleepily, as if her phone would have mercy and stop ringing if only it was made aware of her discontentment. 

Of course, this was not the case, so Molly rolled over to grab her phone off her bedside table. 

Only to recall, seconds too late, that she had not made it to her bed, but only the sofa, and therefore instead fell flat on her face. Not even bothering to get up (it had been one of those days), she blindly ran her hand over the surface of the coffee table before she finally stumbled across her phone. Propping herself up on her elbows and aching all over— _why had she wanted hardwood floors, again?_ —Molly squinted at the impossibly bright screen. She didn’t recognize the number, but she recognized the time. Three o’clock in the bloody morning. 

Molly only knew one person insane enough to call at such an hour. While she realized there was a chance it was someone else, it was a risk she was willing to take.

“Sherlock, you had better have a very, very good reason for calling, or I swear to God I will _murder_ you, and it will _hurt_. Trust me, I’m a doctor.“

_“Oh, deary me. What has my son done now?”_

Molly’s eyes widened. However, the shock wore off nearly as quickly as it set in, and Molly stifled back a yawn. She was _exhausted_. 

“Mrs. Holmes?” Molly murmured blearily, not quite believing her ears. 

_“Molly dear, we’ve been over this. It’s Victoria. I won’t have any of that Mrs. Holmes nonsense. And you sound positively exhausted! Are you alright?”_

“It’s three in the morning, Victoria,” Molly yawned. She heard a gasp on the other end of the line.

_“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry, love. I’m in America at the moment, and I always forget the time difference.”_

Now Molly felt terrible. 

“It’s alright, Mrs—Victoria,” Molly corrected herself at the last moment, “I apologize for how I greeted you—I feel absolutely terrible.”

_“No harm done, my dear, so don’t you fret. But do tell me, what has my idiotic genius of a son done this time? Clearly he’s done something.”_

“What _hasn’t_ he done?” Molly sighed. Victoria laughed on the other end of the line, and Molly couldn’t help but smile. Finally getting off the floor, she turned on the lights and took a seat in her father’s old leather armchair. 

Hearing movement, Toby came sauntering out of the bedroom and made his way over to his mistress, jumping up onto her lap and flopping gracelessly onto his side. Molly scratched him behind his ears, and Toby began to knead her leg, purring and vibrating like a happy car engine. 

“Well, he has been acting rather odd lately,” Molly confessed, chewing her bottom lip. 

_“Has he?”_

“I just feel like, like he….” Molly sighed. “Never mind, it’s silly.”

_“You feel like he what?”_

Molly scratched under Toby’s chin. His purring increased in volume, and then quieted again. He was falling asleep. 

“I can’t tell what he’s thinking anymore. Sometimes, I catch him looking at me and I… I just don’t know. I thought I understood him, but now I feel a fool for ever believing I knew a thing about him.”

There was silence for a few seconds and Molly feared she had managed to offend Victoria somehow. 

_“Oh, my dear girl, you doubt yourself far too much. You know quite a bit more than you think, I’d reckon. But they’re not my stories to tell.”_

“It’s very kind of you to say so, Victoria.”

_“It’s not kindness, Molly, it’s honesty. Oh! Before I forget, I wanted to thank you.”_

Now Molly was truly confused. 

“To thank me?”

_“Yes, dear, for whatever you said to him about the gala. He agreed to come—hardly even put up a fight! I can’t get him to come home for Christmas more than twice a decade, not to mention one of my events! He said you spoke to him about it. Whatever was said is between the two of you, but, whatever it was, I want to thank you, Molly dear. I’m looking forward to seeing both of you for tea next week.”_

“Next week?”

_“Why, yes. Tuesday. Didn’t Sherlock tell you? Myc’s already cleared your schedule for the day.”_

“Wait, what?”

Molly could hear other voices at the other end of the line. 

_“I have to go now, dear, but it’s been a lovely chat. Don’t forget what I said about Sherlock, Molly!”_

The line went dead. Molly tossed her phone back onto the coffee table and proceeded to rub her temples. She wasn’t sure if the pressure was pure exhaustion or the onset of a headache. 

Toby, who had been awakened by Molly’s movement, meowed his irritation. Molly scratched the tuft of fur at his neck and behind his ears, and all was quickly forgiven.

“Oh, Toby,” she sighed, “my life was ordinary, once upon a time, I swear it was. But then I met Sherlock Holmes…”

And, no matter what it said about her mental state, Molly firmly believed that meeting Sherlock Holmes was the best thing that ever happened to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Criticism welcomed! Adoration and love even more so!
> 
> Much love,
> 
> \- Kayla


	5. Signs of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly is visited by a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends,
> 
> I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I got stuck on it, and then I was caught up in school things. Anyway. Blah. Here it is, finally.
> 
> Thank you so much to Kalpana, for cleaning up this chapter for me. I am eternally grateful; she is so awesome and understanding!
> 
> Inspired lyrics for this chapter: _"Cause all these doctors say, That this is an emergency I'd give my eyesight for, A little bit of urgency, Or just some signs of life from you..." - Signs of Life, Andrew Belle_

Molly didn’t hear from Sherlock (or any other Holmes) again for four days and, honestly, she was relieved. She was exhausted from playing the pushover and she wanted to appreciate the much needed time she wanted for herself. Time she could use to continue her research at work, and time to watch the telly or read a book at home even if it meant falling asleep ten minutes after. She told herself that it was nice not being harassed for the sole purpose of someone else’s needs. But at the end of the fourth day, she felt the familiar stirrings of loneliness and realized she missed Sherlock, no matter how much she scolded herself for it.

On the fourth day, Molly was out of work relatively early and was able to grab some takeaway on the way home. However, upon sitting on the sofa to digest her chow mein, someone was knocking on her door and she was forced to begrudgingly set aside her dinner and the cat to answer it. 

She was surprised to find Mary Watson on the other side of the door.

“Hi Molly!”

“O-oh,” Molly stuttered, but she attempted a smile for her unexpected guest and invited her in. She had missed the way Mary swept her gaze over the flat in a way eerily similar to the way Sherlock had when he first looked at anything. “Hi Mary. Would you like some tea?"

“Please.”

Molly gestured for Mary to take a seat, shooing Toby away into her bedroom, and stepped into the kitchen to put on the kettle. The process of making tea was always somehow soothing to Molly and she did it in silence, collecting her thoughts and reigning in the questions that threatened to pour out of her. Mary was a link to Sherlock, through John, and it would be so easy to ask her what Sherlock was up to. But that would give away everything. Molly knew that everyone knew of her feelings for Sherlock, but that didn’t mean she wanted to enforce the knowledge.

“Your flat is so cozy,” Mary observed. Molly stepped back into the room, setting down a tea tray. “Two sugars please. How are you, Molly?”

The pathologist handed Mary her tea, then prepared her own before answering, “I’m fine, Mary. How are you? You look really well. How’s John? Elizabeth?”

Mary beamed at the mention of her daughter and scooted forward in her seat excitedly. “Oh, they’re lovely. John is wonderful with her. She’s such a good baby, you know? She sleeps through the night and hardly ever cries.”

“Yes, Sherlock said that she’s the only baby he tolerates because she doesn’t cry.”

A look passed over Mary’s face and Molly thought it looked smug, but it was quickly replaced with a knowing smile. “Yes. That’s another thing. I wasn’t really surprised, but John was: Sherlock is absolutely marvelous with Lizzie. You should see them together. He carries her around his flat when we come to visit, just babbling away and she listens! _Listens!_ And you can tell that she would reply if she could talk, I just know it.”

Molly laughed, setting her tea down in her lap. She loved seeing Sherlock with John’s daughter. He was a doting godfather, even if he would never admit to it. “They will certainly be great friends, won’t they?”

The two chuckled. A moment passed where Molly awkwardly sipped at her tea, her eyes averted, and Mary tilted her head. “Molly,” Mrs. Watson called hesitantly. “You’re wondering why I’m here.” Molly smiled guiltily. “I want to be friends, Molly.”

“Why does everyone want to be my friend all of a sudden?”

Mary frowned. “I don’t...know what you mean?”

“Never mind,” Molly sighed, waving her hand dismissively. She wondered, somewhere in the back of her mind, if perhaps she had done something extraordinary to garner such attention lately, but all she could remember was that she hadn’t burnt her toast this morning. “I thought maybe we already were friends.”

Mary smiled. “Yes, of course.” The doctor’s wife shuffled a bit in her seat. “Molly, you’re a really sweet woman. You deserve the best. You know that, right?”

Molly blinked. “Uh…”

Mary’s nose wrinkled in disgust and she stood up abruptly. “I don’t really want to get in the middle of this. I don’t know why he even sent me. What did he think I was going to do?”

Molly had stood up as well, her hands clenched at her sides. Toby had slouched out of her bedroom and moved to hop up where she had been sitting. “He?”

“Sherlock, of course!”

Molly’s breath caught. “Sherlock sent you? To see me?”

“He’s worried about you.”

“Worried about me?”

Mary took one of Molly’s hands in hers and smiled kindly. Molly tried to smile back, but it was forced. This was all very weird. Everything that had been happening lately was all so strange and Molly wondered if she was in some alternate universe. “He thinks you’re in danger.”

“Moriarty.” It was strange not referring to him as Jim. But Jim wasn’t real. 

Mary nodded, patting at Molly’s knuckles with her free hand before releasing her and setting her tea down to gather her things. “I told him he should just come see you himself. But, you know how it is. With him, I mean.”

Molly attempted to ignore the ache in her chest. She did know how it was. “I know,” she agreed out loud. “He’s always very busy.”

Mary gave her a strange look, something that wasn’t readable. “Busy not pulling his head out of his arse.” When Molly laughed, Mary grinned. “I’ll tell him you’re fine. But you should know that he’s been talking about you. He thinks he’s subtle, bringing you up in conversation. And he could be subtle. If he didn’t bring you up all the time.”

Molly walked with Mary to the door, wrapping her arms around herself and pursing her lips at the floor. Mary’s hand brushed her shoulder and Molly looked up to meet her eyes. “Keep him on his toes, Molly.”

Mary was out the door before Molly could ask her what she meant. Turning back to her cozy sofa, Molly flopped down onto it, curling around Toby and sighing heavily. “I don’t know how I feel about people anymore, Toby. I much prefer your company these days, it would seem.” Then she promptly fell asleep with the cat squished to her chest.

******

Outside, Mary bounded down the stairs and across the street to the shiny black car parked in the shadows. Sliding in, she shucked off her gloves and gave the driver a look of reproach. “You should have just done that yourself.”

Sherlock started the car and pulled away from the car, his eyes forward. “She’s alright?”

“You know she is.”

“For now.”

Mary’s look turned sympathetic. “Do you have any leads yet on the video?”

Sherlock grunted in the negative. “Mycroft has implemented optimal security on Molly. That is of the utmost importance.”

“Aside from tracking down the one who put out the video of Moriarty.” It was said as a statement, but Mary watched as Sherlock’s expression changed from blank to irritated. Which meant that he didn’t like how he felt about the situation. “You don’t think it’s him, do you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Mary.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and Mary shoved down the urge to smack him. But he was driving and she didn’t want to have to explain to her husband why they would need roadside assistance. “I watched Moriarty put a gun in his mouth and pull the trigger. It’s obviously someone who had access to Moriarty’s files. A protégé perhaps. It would likely be someone in his own network. Someone I would have…”

At Sherlock’s sudden enjambment, Mary glanced over. “Sherlock?”

“It can’t be anyone he’s worked with. I dismantled every loose end he had.”

“You’re sure?”

Sherlock sneered at the road ahead of him. Not because Mary was terrifying. Only because it was proper road etiquette to keep your eyes on the road. “Of course, I am.”

“If it’s no one Moriarty worked with, how do we know they’ll go after Molly? They might not even know who Molly is.”

“She saw the video. They know who she is. Even if they don’t, I won’t take the chance.”

Mary grinned as they pulled up to her and John’s flat. She turned to face him fully. “Are you going to tell her?”

“What?” Sherlock asked warily, eyeing the blonde woman.

“Don’t be daft.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her. “That coat is hideous.”

Mary laughed, her head thrown back, before she leaned over to cup the detective’s cheeks in her hands. “You are a right tosser, Sherlock Holmes.” She kissed his forehead and released him, stepping out of the car and shutting the door behind her. The window rolled down and she bent to smirk at him. “I’ll give Lizzie your love.”

Sherlock looked away to hide the smile that threatened to spread across his face. Mary’s laughter told him she had already seen it. “Good night, Mary.”

“Good night, Sherlock. I’ll give John a kiss from you as well.”

Sherlock grumbled, pulling away from the curb, more of Mrs. Watson’s laughter following him. But the smile on his face stayed in place until he was back on Baker Street.

******

“Do you have the hard drive?”

“Yes.”

“Good. And the pathologist?”

“Holmes upped her security.”

“Perfect. And do we have any mail?”

“The invitation arrived yesterday.”

“Excellent.”

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me some love (or some hate)! 
> 
> Much love,
> 
> \- Kayla


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